The Price Of Knowledge
by The-Excess-Dreams
Summary: This was your dream, wasn't it? But what if it was only your dream because the people around you told you it was? You were supposed to be smarter than that. But He saw through it, didn't he? He saw right through the lies and the shams, and when he tied to warn you, you threw it all back in his face. Percabeth AU.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Well hello there! This story was originally going to be a one-shot, but I realized it was going to be way too long, so I'll most likely be splitting it into around four or five parts, maybe more.**

 **This is a mortal AU. Sorry if the characters seem a little OOC.**

 **I hope you enjoy! :)**

 **Disclaimer: The only thing I own is the order in which the words are arranged.**

* * *

Part One:

 _And all the things I thought I knew,_

 _Mean nothing when I'm not with you._

* * *

You're sitting in the campus library, with your knees tucked under you in the big leather armchair. You clutch your book tightly to your chest and watch the rain pouring heavily outside. The consistent thrumming that usually would have lulled you to sleep now pounds inside your head – a million tiny hammers all working together to drive you to near madness.

It's warm inside, and a month ago, you'd have gone as far as to say it was cosy, but you can feel the cold emitting from the fogged-up window beside you, and chills run down your spine as you put your book down so you can jam your hands underneath your legs where it's warm.

You should really be studying right now, the logical side of you says. But you can't physically bring yourself to do it. You can't really bring yourself to do anything but nothing, recently. If nothing was even something. Which it technically wasn't.

And there it goes again, the logical side of you overruling everything else you try to do. You had tried to tame it after the incident, but it always comes back to rule. It's the side that both protects and kills you at the same time, and as much as you hate it right now, you know you can't get rid of it. And if a chance ever arose where you could, would you? Probably not. You're much too proud for that.

So, for now you do nothing. Or the something that was nothing, and you occupy yourself by watching the drips slide down the window, zig-zagging and growing until they reach the frame at the bottom and disperse into the ground. For once in your life, you wish it would just snow. Sure, it could be annoying, and shovelling it was a pain in the backside, but at least it amounted to something in the end. If there was going to be precipitation, the weather could at least do it properly. No more stupid "in-between" rain.

But the weather here has a mind of its own. You've been in this country for at least two months, and you can't ever remember seeing a single ray of sunshine. But everything seems gloomy to you now, and you doubt that you would see sun even if you were standing in the middle of the Sahara Desert.

Perhaps it's not really the snow that you want. Snow just reminds you of home. But snow is consistent. It is positively and absolutely _there_. When it stops snowing, the snow stays, and the world is undeniably snowy. But the rain is sly; it buckets down on you one moment and disappears the next, leaving you to wonder whether it is in fact gone, or merely toying with you. And that sense of indecisiveness and false hope makes you angry.

The other thing that makes you angry is the way your family seems so obliviously happy at your success. They're all back in New York, bragging about how _their_ daughter made it into Cambridge. And about how _pleased_ they were. Because that's all you are to them, isn't it? Bragging rights. And how dare they be so happy for you when the reason that they're rejoicing is the same reason you're so torn apart?

But this was what you wanted, right? This was _your_ dream, wasn't it? But what if it was only your dream because the people around you told you it was? You are supposed to be smarter than that. But _He_ saw through it, didn't he? He saw right through the lies and the shams, and when he tried to warn you, you threw it all back in his face.

Because you're an idiot. And you always mess up.

All your life you've worked so hard for the knowledge you craved. And now that you've got it, you've realized that everything means nothing without him.

And all those things that you wrote off as nothings were the somethings you needed.

And all of a sudden, you've flown back in time to the day you met him. Back when the nothings that were somethings and the somethings that were nothings didn't matter. Back to the not-so-long-ago time when you actually believed things could work out in the end. Back when knowledge was everything to you, and above all else the knowledge that he was there. That he was _yours._

 _._

 _*-Approximately one year earlier-*_

You heave a sigh as you pick up your architecture designs off the café table, running a finger over the big brown ring your coffee cup left on the paper. You're pissed. Not just because of the ruined drawings, and the fact that you should have known better than to leave your coffee on them; no, the truth is you've been teetering on the edge of madness all week, and this was just the tipping point.

What you desperately need right now is a break. A break from your parents who've been at your throat all week because you only scored a B+ on a test. A break from the constant voice inside your head, that keeps telling you _It's not good enough, Annabeth. It's never good enough._

You squeeze your eyes shut tightly and purse your lips. You don't realize you've zoned out until a voice breaks through your bubble.

"You know, you could probably get that out by dabbing it with some bleach."

Black spots dance before you as you snap your eyes back open and look around in surprise.

There's a boy sitting a table away from you, and you decide he must have been the one to speak, because he's staring right at you. That and the fact that he was the only other person in the café.

He's sitting backwards in his chair, his arms folded across the top slat, his chin resting goofily on top of them. He's dressed like a skater, in a pair of jeans and a blue sweatshirt, and the board resting against his leg confirms your predicament.

He's looking up at you, his green eyes expectant, his head cocked slightly to the side, waiting for your reply. Somehow, it reminds you of a puppy, and you can feel the corners of your mouth tilt up ever so slightly.

"Bleach?" you respond. "You sure?"

He shrugs, "It works for me."

A part of you is surprised that this boy is helping you. It's not that you don't appreciate it – you do, but he just doesn't seem like the sort of person you should trust. He has that scruffy, careless sort of look about him. With his dishevelled black hair, the mysterious glint in his eyes, and the way the corner of his mouth is turned up into an almost-smirk, he's exactly the sort of person your parents had drilled into your head time and time again that you were to steer clear of.

But something about him fascinates you. It's almost as if he's radiating a kind of energy. You're not sure what it is exactly, but it doesn't seem at all dangerous. It's more . . . positive . . . excited.

But he could be acting. His motives could be . . . not in the right place. Okay, now you're being _way_ too cynical. This guy is just gave you a helpful tip to solve your problem, and here you are trying to decide whether he's a rapist or a thief. You _definitely_ need to get some sleep. Besides, he doesn't even look like the type of person who could put up a very convincing act.

You realize that you're probably staring at him in quite a strange way, and he's probably wondering whether there's something wrong with you.

"Umm…thanks," you attempt. "I'll give it a try. When I get _home_."

You spit out the word home with more force than you meant. He raises an eyebrow slightly. _Well done! Now he_ definitely _thinks you're a lunatic!_

You sigh heavily and run a hand through your blonde hair, tugging at the pins that were supposedly holding the strands out of your face. In reality, all they did was hang there, get tangled, and fall out randomly. All part of the pleasures of having thick hair.

The chair scrapes back as you stand up and begin stuffing your things into your backpack. Being careful not to bend your already ruined designs.

"Are you alright?" the softness in his voice startles you. You look up, and real concern is etched across his face; his wide green eyes scrunched together in an expression that isn't quite pity. It's more like empathy.

You send him a smile that you're sure isn't very convincing, and shrug your backpack over your shoulder. "Yeah, just family issues," you say nonchalantly.

"Yuck."

You snort. "Got _that_ right."

You straighten out your sweater and start towards the door of the café. "Thanks again for the bleach tip," you say over your shoulder. You're not entirely sure what else to say, or if any other words are necessary, and the silence that follows is a little uncomfortable as you walk out into the street.

The air is filled with the hazy orange glow of streetlights just starting to light up the city. You'd been in the café longer than you'd initially thought, and dusk has snuck up on you. It's honestly not surprizing, though. This is far from the first time you've lost track of yourself while floating around in architecture land.

It begins to snow very lightly as you meander down the street. The knowledge of getting into trouble if you're home too late does nothing to spur you on, and you take your time, sticking close to the inside edge of the side-walk to avoid being trampled by the herd of hasty pedestrians.

The streets are pretty packed for a Monday, and the traffic's backed up in every direction. Strange. You can't help but feel there's some sort of information that's evading your mind. Something you knew. Or were supposed to know.

 _It's probably nothing important._

You fold your arms across your chest and bite your lip in frustrated denial. You hate not knowing, and convincing yourself it's nothing is a trick rarely successful. It's obviously _something._

And the strangeness is only amplified further when three blocks from the café, you're suddenly brought up short.

Because _He's_ standing there. Leaning casually against the crosswalk pole ahead of you, his skateboard tucked under one arm, his eyes fixed on the horizon, as if waiting for something.

" _What the heck?"_ you mutter, as you dodge an impatient businessman who clearly didn't appreciate you stopping in the middle of the sidewalk. Confusion fills you up. How is this possible? You replay the conditions in which you left him. You can picture him sitting at the cafe, with no visible intention of leaving. But supposing he had left immediately after you, he would still have had to have overtaken you at one point or another.

You wonder for a moment if perhaps he isn't the same guy at all. Maybe the lights and your tired brain are playing tricks on you. But as you scrutinize him further, there's no doubt about it. He's got the exact same ruffled hair, the exact same features, and the exact same outfit you remember.

Not that you had memorized exactly what he was wearing. That'd be psychotic.

Right?

With an air of definitive caution, you take a few steps forward. You'll have to take that crosswalk to get to your place anyway. There's really no avoiding it.

He turns when you're just a few steps away from him. He doesn't notice you at first, his eyes flit excitedly from one brightly lit advert to the next, but inevitably his eyes come to meet yours, and when it does, his face lights up with a fully genuine smile. He pushes his body away from the pole and comes practically skipping to your side, energy rolling off him as if he were a power plant.

" _There_ you are! You were taking so long I thought you'd _never_ get here," he says it as if he knew you would be coming this way. Even scarier, he said it as if he were _waiting_ for you to come this way. A big _uh oh_ shiver tingles your spine, and you instinctively eye your surroundings for any possible means of protection, just in case things take a turn for the worst. The way your luck's been going today, they probably will.

Waiting around for thing to happen has never been your fall back, and you need to get on top of the situation quickly if you're to keep things in check. You decide to test the waters. Act friendly first, find out his intentions and then decide what to do from that point. Get as many facts as you can before you make a hypothesis.

"Hey," you say with mock casually. "How'd you know I'd be here?"

"Your backpack," he says, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. "St. Clarence is on _that_ side of town," he jerks a thumb behind him. "Figured you probably lived nearby. This is the most direct route."

 _Of course._ It hadn't even dawned on you that you were wearing your school backpack. Then again, it had also never dawned on you that he would have paid notice to it. It's not that the crest was inconspicuous; quite the contrary, in fact - St. Clarence was probably the most prestigious and sought-after girls school in New York - He just doesn't strike you as the sort of guy who'd give a damn. But then, there seems to be no end to the surprises this boy can conjure, and it was more than possible he'd seen the pack as you'd walked out the café door; the bold white lettering stood out strongly against the navy-blue canvas: a design that was undoubtedly made with the intention to flaunt the fact that you went to St. Clarence. And that was probably a contributing factor as to why you hated it so much.

That knowledge does little to quell your suspicions though. It does nothing to change the fact that he was waiting here, seemingly for you.

He holds out an arm, pulling the sleeve of his hoodie back, revealing a simple digital watch.

His face lights up. "C'mon!" he shouts excitedly, grabbing your upper arm and practically dragging you towards a dumpy looking side street. "We're going to miss it!"

Your heart rate speeds up to what feels like the speed of sound. You can feel each beat pulsing in your ears, blocking out the world around you, until it's just a grey tunnel with him and you, with his hand clasping your arm.

Your instincts kick in, and you dig your heels hard into the pavement, tugging at his grasp. You're about to scream for help, when the pressure on your arm is abruptly released.

You stumble back a few steps and your back comes up against the side of the alleyway. Your hand runs over the course brickwork as though looking for something to cling to. Your head snaps up to look at him.

He's standing in the centre of the alleyway, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly, a blush steadily working its way down to his Adam's apple. As though he finally realized that maybe dragging a girl who doesn't know you into a deserted alleyway at sundown wasn't the best idea.

"Oops," He grins sheepishly. "Sorry about…that."

The expression on his face is so adorably hilarious that if you weren't still recovering from nearly having a heart attack, you'd probably have laughed.

"What the hell?" You shout. You're not really worried anymore; His newly exposed nervous demeanour tells you that he hadn't meant you any harm, but that doesn't stop you from being angry. What exactly was he thinking?

"Yeah…uh, that was an accident. Sorry."

You huff. "So, you _accidently_ almost gave me a heart attack?"

"Yup!" he says, a little too enthusiastically. "Exactly. I'm glad we see eye to eye on that. And speaking of seeing, I wanna show you something…" The last bit comes out a bit like a question, as though he's not entirely sure how you'll react.

 _As if!_ Who does he think he is turning up like that, scaring you, and then expecting you to willingly follow him who-knows-where? _Nuh uh. No way. Not a chance._

Still, it appears this is the escape you've been longing for. As stupid and reckless as it was, the thought of danger and adventure draws you in. It's the chocolate you know you shouldn't eat, but the scent draws you nearer. Your new desire to break the rules startles you; it's never really been an issue until recently. All thoughts of deviation were usually hammered out of your head by your mother before they could fully take shape. But imagine the look on your mother's face when she realises you've been out adventuring with some random skater you found on the streets! Oh, Revenge is sweet!

 _I can't believe you're even considering this!_ Your logical side tells you. _It's utter madness!_

"Okay," you say boldly. "I'll go." _You're a disaster, Annabeth. A total disaster._

His face lights up at your words. "That's great! I'm Percy, by the way."

"Hi Percy, I'm Annabeth. And for the record, you might want to do introductions _before_ the dragging into alleyways. Girls don't generally like being hauled away by strangers," you say with a slight smirk.

"Yeah…look, I'm really sorry about that," he mumbles. "But," he adds, perking up a little, "I'll let you hold my board. As, you know, insurance. That way, you can escape if I scare you again." He untucks his skateboard from the crook of his arm and holds it out to you with both hands, like an offering.

"An insurance board?" you chuckle, taking the aqua colored death-instrument from his outstretched arms. It's just about the most ridiculous form of comfort you can think of. "Why not? Although I don't know if this thing could outpace you."

"Erm…not sure if that was meant to be offensive, or a compliment." He says.

You smirk in reply.

"Anyway, where is this thing you were so desperate to show me?" you ask, placing the board under your own arm. It's slightly heavier than you'd thought. No wonder he gave it to you to hold. You don't care though; you're glad for the peace of mind, no matter how ridiculous it was.

"Right this way please, milady." he says, gesturing grandly down the alleyway.

* * *

 **A/N: Please leave a review! Constructive criticism is appreciated. :)**

 **I'm already writing chapter two, so hopefully that'll be out soon-ish.**

 **Also, St. Clarence is not a real school. I made it up.**


	2. Chapter 2

Part Two:

 _He was the avalanche, and I was the snow,_

 _Worries went forgotten, and fear let go._

* * *

You follow him for some time, weaving down a maze of dark alleyways and other dumpy looking places you normally wouldn't dare venture. The shadows of buildings and dumpsters cast strange shapes around you as the sun slips farther down, subconsciously putting your nerves on edge.

It's not very often you're like this. Usually, you're the one trying to convince your friends that it was all in their heads, and there was nothing to be afraid of. The problem was, your fears _were_ all in your head. And that made them all the more difficult to get rid of. You were afraid of not living up to people's expectations, you were afraid of that voice that nagged you to no end. You were, undeniably, afraid of yourself. And there was absolutely no way that you knew of to conquer that fear.

The shadows hit a little too close to home.

Percy, on the other hand, didn't seem the least bit fazed by your unnerving surroundings. On the contrary, he seemed right at home, casually leading you farther and farther into the urban labyrinth, humming something that sounded suspiciously like Hilltop Hoods.

He didn't falter once, and he seemed completely confident in his street navigating. It was as if he'd come this way a million times. And perhaps he had; there was no denying the fact that you knew absolutely nothing about him, and although you were sure he had no intention of purposely hurting you, it was still probable that his idea of a fun excursion through alleyways wasn't exactly…safe.

"Where exactly is it that we're going?" You ask, hugging his skateboard to your chest.

"You'll see!" he calls over his shoulder.

"You're sure you know where you're going, right? Because my parents will kill me if I get myself lost."

"Geez, tough parents. I wouldn't worry about it, though, because you wouldn't have gotten yourself lost. _I_ would have gotten you lost. And to answer your question, yes, I do know where I'm going. Thanks for checking," he says the whole sentence without once breaking stride, and without the slightest bit of self-concern, considering he's just willingly placed his own head on your parent's chopping block.

"Your funeral," you mutter, not expecting him to hear.

He did hear, apparently. "Look, you need to lighten up a little. You St. Clarence people are wound up way too tight."

He was right, and you know it, but you're not going to give in that easily. "And how would you know that?"

He shrugs. "I get around."

You wait for further explanation, but none comes, and you fall back into silence, following him into a side street that looks like it was taken right out of a junkyard.

Elaborated: it looks like the trash of a mechanic and the trash of an electronics company fused and somehow ended up dumped in a New York side street.

Old tubs filled with everything from wires to lug wrenches were strewn around the ground in piles of oily snow; a cracked monitor is slumped sadly on top of an old radiator, and you can even see several used car batteries peeking out from behind a tire so large, you don't think it would fit any vehicle in the city of New York, much less one within radius of Manhattan.

Percy stops and spins on his heel to face you. "Ta da!" he says, spreading his arms wide as though he's just presented to you the very definition of nirvana.

You're not sure if this is some sort of joke, or if he's an actual nut job. What you do know is that the other end of the alley is blocked up by what looked like the back of a shop. A plain padlocked door is visible from behind the junk, and a drainpipe winds its way up the side of the building to the gutter. Perfect. Just Perfect. He'd gotten lost after all.

"Great work, Mr. GPS. It's a dead-end."

Percy scoffs. "The only thing that's dead around here is your sense of faith."

He turns around and starts running at full speed towards the door. Right when you think he's about to collide, he jumps, placing one foot on the door handle, then swinging himself around to use the drainpipe as a step, and finishing by somersaulting onto the roof.

It's all over so fast, you can hardly comprehend what just happened. Your brain is telling you he's down on the ground, but your eyes are telling you he's sitting up on the roof.

You stand with your mouth hanging open, trying to contemplate the physics needed to achieve the maneuver he's just completed. And then it hits you. He's waiting up there for you…he expects you to come up too.

"No. Absolutely not." You cross your arms and glare up at him. He smirks, and that only infuriates you more.

"It's alright, I'll help you. Pass up my board. And your backpack."

Your backpack? You can't just give him your backpack like that! Your laptop is in there!

He senses your hesitation. "Look," he huffs "I'm not gonna steal it, alright? If that's what I'd wanted, I wouldn't have brought you all this way to do it."

He had a point. He could probably have mugged you at any point in the journey. He looked fit, to say the least, and as much as it pains you to say it, you know you probably wouldn't stand much of a chance against him in combat.

It wasn't that you were helpless in any way; in fact, you were probably better matched than any of your other classmates, thanks to the after school karate lessons you negotiated with your mother for, but there was something about Percy – perhaps the stunt he just performed – that told you he would not be an easy adversary.

"Fine," you sign, after a considerable pause. "But don't you _dare_ drop it."

He grins and leans over the edge to take the objects from your outstretched arms. "I wouldn't dream of it."

He disappears briefly from your vision, and you feel a squeeze of apprehension in the pit of your stomach for letting your laptop out of your sight.

He appears a few seconds later, though. His head peering over the edge at you.

"Right," he begins, clearing his throat. "See that tub over there? No, not that one, the one with the wheel hubs…yeah, that one. Dump it out."

"Seriously, right here on the ground? Isn't that kind of insolent?"

He shrugs, "Dump it in another tub if it makes you feel better. No one uses this stuff anyway."

You carefully remove the items from the container in question and place them in the others wherever there's room.

"Now place the tub upside-down in front of the door."

"Are you sure this will hold my weight?" The makeshift step looks cheap and anything but stable.

He mutters something about trust. "It's only like, what, a foot and a half to fall?"

"You're not much for reassurance, are you?"

More incoherent grumbling.

"Look, it'll support you, okay?"

You take his word for it and climb onto the rickety plastic.

"Not yet!" he yelps. You scramble backward as fast as you can in alarm, nearly tripping over your feet in the rush.

"I told you it would hold your weight. I didn't say for how long."

"What?"

"We're gonna have to be quick with this. When you're ready you're going to step on the tub, then _quickly_ step on the door handle – it's locked, so you don't have to worry about it moving – then I'm going to grab your arm, and pull you up. You'll have to help me out by stepping _here_ on the doorframe. Got it?"

"What are you, some kind of parkour expert?"

He brushes the question away. "Sorta."

Suddenly several puzzle pieces fall into place. "So that's how you got to the stoplight so fast," you mutter to yourself.

"Maybe. Now are you ready to come up, or not?"

A part of you wants to say no, you're not ready. Nor do you want to participate in any crazy idea he defines as fun; but you don't particularly want to go home either, and you've already made it this far. It would seem cowardly to back down now.

"I'm ready," you say, trying to put in an air of confidence and failing miserably.

You hastily step onto the container, and it tips precariously under you as you attempt to get your foot up onto the door knob. You probably look ridiculous, teetering on an upside-down tub with one leg in the air, struggling to get a foothold before your other foot falls through.

Eventually, you manage to get in what feels like a secure position, and with a grunt, you heave yourself up onto the handle; all your weight resting on a surface no bigger than your fist.

For a moment, your body sways uncertainly, like the ball on the edge of a basketball hoop. Unstable and unbalanced, you tilt backward over mid-air, your arms floundering uselessly for a hold.

And right when the ball is about to tip off the edge, a hand reaches out and stabilizes it.

His grasp is tight around your wrist, pulling you upright, and the tension enables you to stabilize yourself, flattening your side against the wall; distributing your weight accordingly until you're settled in a somewhat stable position.

You're at a height now where the gutter is even with your neck, so with Percy tugging on your arm, you're able to haul yourself up, using the frame above the door as a foothold like Percy suggested.

"This had better be worth it," you growl, once you've been towed over the edge onto the building. The roof is slick with ice, and the notion of standing up seems a bit far-fetched, so you stay rooted in the crouched-up position you're in.

"We're practically there," Percy pipes up, walking along the roof towards the far corner. _He_ doesn't seem to be having any trouble staying upright.

You crawl toddler-style after him, the cold surface wasting no time in turning your hands red and numb.

 _How humiliating._

"This has got to be the stupidest thing I've ever done," you snap irritably. You know you're being a little harsh, but you don't like to be outdone. At anything. Especially by a human squirrel.

"It's just a little farther, and then you can go back to whatever it is you define as not stupid."

"Well, I think _this_ would be a whole lot less stupid if you actually told me where the heck we're going."

"Ah, but that would be stupid of me to tell you where we're going on this stupid trip because then the stupidity of the trip won't be stupid anymore."

 _Huh?_ The absurdity of his comment takes you by surprise, and you grin in spite of yourself. "That makes absolutely no sense," you chuckle.

"That's the point. It's stupid."

"Well, I think _you're_ stupid."

He laughs. It's a nice laugh, the kind that can instantly warm up a room, and you can just make out the white of his teeth through the quickly darkening air.

"Maybe I am," he smiles, hopping the short distance off your roof and onto its slightly less icy neighbor.

You follow him, nearly slipping as you take the leap, and he hands you your backpack on the other side.

You shrug it onto your back, and it's as you straighten out that you finally notice the magnificence of your surroundings.

You can see everything. Or what feels to you at this moment like everything. The whole city laid out before you. A trillion objects flickering like someone had strung everything with colorful Christmas lights. The mess of buildings you just walked through looks nothing like it did from ground level. Now it looks purposeful, deliberate. Like rows of stepping stones bridging the city together.

To your left, you can see the Hudson River, its waters glimmering with the reflected city lights, boats swimming lazily across its surface, glowing with yet more glittering lights, each one shining like a beacon.

You suck in an audible gasp.

Percy chuckles behind you. "It's not too bad, huh?"

"It's incredible," you breathe.

A small gust of wind blows past from the streets below you, bringing with it the heavenly scent of barbecue and pizza and freshly baked doughnuts and a plethora of other smells that shouldn't have gone well together, but somehow _did._

It feels as though you've entered another dimension, far, far away from the dank, stinky streets you'd been wandering. You can't quite find the words to describe it, but then again you don't really want to; (Everything loses its magic once it's been named. Labels sucked the mystery and intrigue right out of everything) all that you know is that it felt like you'd been trapped underwater in the claustrophobic streets so long, and now you've finally broken through the surface to where you can breathe.

With the wind flapping around you and the newfound air in your lungs, you think you finally understand why people – Percy included – might do Parkour. You want nothing more than to just jump off this building and fly like a bird from roof top to roof top. There isn't any such thing as fear any more – fear is for the people down there on the ground who have yet to breathe. The people who are still suffocating amongst themselves under the surface – you couldn't be farther from them than you are right now.

Percy flops down near the edge of the roof and sits cross-legged with his chin in his hands; a rather childlike sort of position, though he's already made it abundantly clear that he's a childlike sort of guy.

You sit down next to him (but not _too_ next to him, you leave a good arm's length between you) and gaze out over the river, still trying to shake the feeling that you're dreaming. It's like you're looking through someone else's eyes; that detached, trance-like feel where everything just seems to slow down. Perhaps you were so exhausted that you fell asleep somewhere between the café and your house, and all that happened since has just been the cause of your overly vivid mind.

The wind sounds tinny as it whistles past your ears, as though being played back through a recording.

"So, why?" you ask, turning to look at his face.

"Huh?"

"Why me? You brought me all the way up here, and I want to know why."

He chuckles. "I figured you needed a break. You should have seen your face, you looked like you hadn't slept in a year."

"That is not true." You huff.

"Hey, you asked, and I'm answering. You looked like you'd been to hell and back."

Had you really looked like that? It was hard to tell. Every time you looked in the mirror, you just saw you. Not the tired Annabeth you knew you were, with the dark circles and tired expression.

No; just you. Because when you look at yourself in the mirror, you'll see one of two reflections. Either the reflection that is the real one – the one where you see the depressed ruin you are – or the one you made to cover that one up. The one where you're just you. Because you're not depressed.

You're not. Because depressed people are supposed to lie at home and do nothing. And you just work harder.

"So when you see tired people you bring them here?" you ask, still confused.

"No, because this only happens now," he says, his answer frustratingly vague.

"What?" you ask, a tinge of annoyance seeping into your voice.

As it turns out, that question was unnecessary, and the moment it leaves your lips the world around you resonates with a staggering BANG.

The first thing that pulses through your mind as you jump out of your skin is _explosion_. Followed closely by _aww crap._

But then come the lights. Brilliant, vibrant bursts of red and gold, raining down above the river as if the stars were falling right out of the sky. They whistle as they descend, sparkling like little flakes of fire before they snuff out and disappear into the darkness.

And then the drizzle turns into a downpour. More and more bangs sound off, like a machine gun but louder, each new pop making you jump even though you're expecting it. And the stars keep raining down like a meteor shower, exploding into flower-like shapes and then hissing feistily as they spiral towards the water, but never quite meeting their goal. Somehow fierce and beautiful at the same time.

 _Fireworks._

And suddenly the mystery of the crowded streets missing date fits into place. Of course there will be crowds. It's Chinese New Year. The spring festival.

It goes on and on, some of the fireworks coming so close that you're afraid the sparks will fall on top of you. But of course, they never do.

And by the time the last of the fireworks have faded, your fears have faded too. Sinking just like the flecks of ash deep into the Hudson. It doesn't matter that you're tired. It doesn't matter what your parents think. It doesn't matter if you're not good enough. The only thing that matters is that you're _here_ , and you can breathe deeply and think freely and nobody is going to stop you.

And when it's all over, Percy leads you back to the ground and says goodbye, and you say goodbye too, even though you wish you didn't have too, for some reason.

And even though the cab ride home stinks, and when you check your phone you see that you've got five texts and six missed calls from your mother, telling you how much trouble you're in, it doesn't shake the euphoria.

Because for the first time in years, you feel completely tranquil. And you couldn't care less about anything.

And little did you know that this was far from the last you would be seeing of Percy.

* * *

 **A/N: So there's chapter two! Let me know what you think.**

 **I completely fell in love with the idea of Parkour Percy, and had to do it. (Anyone who doesn't know what parkour is should look it up. It's crazy, but pretty amazing too.)**

 **And a massive thank you to everyone who reviewed, followed, or favorited last chapter. I love you guys so much! :)**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: this is way overdue.**

* * *

 _-Part Three-_

 _A high and a low,_

 _Some sugar, some snow._

* * *

The saying ' _what comes up must come down',_ takes on a whole new meaning when put into context.

Sugar was a great example. It fills you with energy and lifts you up high, then drops you back down the second it wears out, sucking everything out of you like a vacuum.

That was how it felt when you returned from your outing with Percy.

You arrived home a little past eleven, having taken an age to get through the busy streets still packed from the Chinese New Year celebrations, (not to mention the fact that the cab driver drove slower than a snail with arthritis (if snails could, in fact, get arthritis. You were pretty sure they couldn't)).

Your parents were waiting up for you, or at least your mother was. You could see the faint glow of the kitchen light from where you stood on the drive, shining through the window faintly like candlelight. For a moment, you considered camping out behind the garage until morning, and escaping to school before you could face her. Sadly, though, your school supplies were located in your bedroom. How much longer _you_ would be, you didn't know.

But with all truthfulness, you knew your parents would never kick you out. The embarrassment would put a damper on their perfect reputation. And besides, school was the topmost priority in the household, and how could you possibly study if you were living under a bridge?

So you took a deep breath and climbed the steps to the front door to receive your sentence, which turned out to be a week-long grounding. You got it relatively easy, because you made up the excuse that you were doing your homework at the café, and had lost track of time. You were pretty sure that if you told the truth about where you'd been, you would have been kicked out regardless of the academic consequences; Athena was not the sort who easily pardoned foolishness, and your father, Fredrick, was putty in her hands and agreed wholeheartedly to whatever she deemed as 'unseemly behaviour'.

And so, in the restricting environment of your home and school, you soon returned to the rut that was most certainly not depression; spending every waking hour filling your head with as much knowledge as you could.

You're not sure why you resorted to knowledge in your time of need. It was calming, you supposed, to understand how the world operated; and some part of you must have believed that the more you knew about things, the more control you _had_ over those things. And perhaps that was true, in some sense.

Mostly, it just helped fill the empty hole that was your life.

-()()()()-

It was two weeks until you saw him again.

You were in the middle of Ms. Anderson's Advanced Math class. Ms. Anderson was a peppy old woman, with a pointed nose and stick-like limbs, who constantly rehashed how important fresh air was for the mind, and was one of those people who _always_ had the window wide open. No matter what the outside temperature was.

This tended to be rather problematic in the colder months to those of you who were not polar bears, and instead of solving the probability questions on your math sheet, you often found yourself wondering how probable it was that you would be an icicle on legs by the end of the class.

But after a many years of tutoring by Ms. Anderson, students of St. Clarence had adapted to the harsh environment of her classroom (which had been dubbed the rather suitable name of 'The Ice Box'), and despite the strict uniform regulation, they were always seen wearing a plethora of scarves, hats, and sweatshirts during their time there.

None of the other teachers said anything about it anymore. They too had felt the wrath of The Ice Box, and though it had been explained to Ms Anderson that icicles couldn't study, she had remained firm in her beliefs and opinions. Therefore, to avoid hypothermia it was decided that extra layers of clothing would be permitted in all the classes governed by said teacher.

So there you sit, all rugged up in the corner closest to the wall of open windows, with your chunky scarf pulled up over your mouth so that your warm breath would keep your face from becoming too chilled; listening to the droning voice of the teacher as she explained the many uses of the complex problems on the whiteboard.

Unfortunately, as brilliant as she was, Ms. Anderson was not a very invigorating speaker. So you often found yourself rather bored during her class, especially on days like today, where you had stayed up the entirety of the previous night reading up on Spartan history (a subject you found immensely fascinating). So with the drowsiness and the biting cold (meant to be refreshing, but was really not), you were unusually inattentive.

At some point during the speech, you find yourself leaning back in your chair, staring hollowly out the windows, watching the snowflakes that had just started to fall.

Whatever happened to spring?

The classroom was on the top story of St. Clarence and the whole right wall was covered in floor-length windows, looking out over the C shaped building that surrounded the rear courtyard of the campus, separated from the road by a simple chain link fence, which rather threw off the ornate feel of the school.

You enjoy looking out these windows. Watching the passers-by walk their dogs and scuttle to and from work. It's calming, somehow; to be able to lose yourself and watch the world work silently beneath you like a clock; to watch the same people every day following their routines without the slightest hitch.

You sometimes wish you were invisible, so you could mingle among them and watch the world turn without actually having to take part in it. Life was much more interesting if it wasn't happening to you, and other people's lives were always more fascinating than your own.

The grass was always greener on the other side of the fence, after all.

It was while you were mulling over these things, and staring half-heartedly out the window that he appeared. And he did, quite literally, just _appear._ One moment you were gazing at a woman and her baby going for a walk, and the next thing you know, a shape appears on the roof at the other end of the C.

You do a double take, but the figure is still there, and it's undoubtedly Percy.

A bit of panic seizes up in you. _What is he doing here?_ _Has he seen you?_ You quickly turn away from the window and face the front. Trying to blend in and look as oblivious as possible. _Was he here for you? Had anyone else spotted him?_

Cautiously, you turn your head to see if he's still there.

He is. He's sitting on the edge of the roof, legs dangling over the side. And he's watching you.

You snap your head quickly away, hoping he didn't notice you looking. It's not that you don't want to see him again. In fact, in the first few days after your little adventure, that was all you wanted. But you had quickly pushed that hope away. The chances of you seeing each other again had been extremely unlikely. But now here he was, and you're not sure _what_ to think. He may not have even been watching you at all. There was a whole classroom of people around you. He could have been looking at any of them

Unwillingly, you take another peek. He's still looking. This time, it looks like he's smirking at you.

How infuriating.

You send him a glare, hoping he can see it from that distance.

He must, because he waves at you and continues smirking; seeming thoroughly amused by your dilemma.

Not at all the desired effect.

He really can't be here. If anyone sees him, not only will _he_ be in trouble, but if they find out your connection to him than you could be as well. And you can't risk expulsion. Not now, when you're so close to graduating and being accepted into your dream university.

Could you just ignore him? It was a miracle nobody had spotted him already, and you couldn't just let him be caught. The guilt would kill you.

Awkwardly, you drop your hand down between the side of the chair and the window, pointing behind you as discretely as you can; staring him in the eye to make your point clearer.

 _Go._

He tilts his head to one side, either not understanding you or not understanding _why._

You gesture more urgently, mouthing the word now, and completely forgetting about where you are.

"Miss Chase, is there something you'd like to share?"

You jump in your seat, dread settling in your stomach.

Ms. Anderson had stopped mid-speech and was now staring at you impatiently, the rest of the class mimicking her gaze; though there faces were less impatient and more curious. Looking at you expectantly as though waiting for a show to begin.

You squirm uncomfortably under their attention. "N-no. Nothing."

With a dissatisfied _humph,_ Ms. Anderson returned to her formal stature and began where she left off without a second glance. She was the nosy sort, but she never stayed interested very long.

The rest of the girls shoot you disappointed looks and once more return to listening to the never-ending lecture. More likely they were texting their boyfriends under their desks.

Once you're quite sure that Ms. Anderson was once again fully immersed in her speech (now droning on about how arithmetic saved her life once, which was undeniably exaggerated), you sneak another peek out the window.

The slate tiled roof where he'd been sitting was now entirely deserted, looking every bit as it had before he'd appeared, minus some trampled snow.

He was gone. You sigh and turn back to the teacher.

-()()()()-

After Advanced Math was lunch, and instead of following the stream of girls to the cafeteria, you sneak your way down a different hall that leads you past the library and out into the rear courtyard.

It wasn't difficult to get away unnoticed. You often came to the library during lunch to escape the bustle and read a chapter or two before the next class, so you knew you wouldn't be spotted.

The shock of the cold as you exit out the door tingles your face uncomfortably, and you tug your scarf (which you were still donning from The Ice Box) back up over your nose, stuffing your hands under your arms and shuffling around the courtyard; head bent upward as you surveyed the roofline, rotating full circle.

You exhale in disappointment. He isn't there.

Just as you're about to turn back you hear a small _clink_ , followed by a crunch of snow.

Spinning on your heals, you already know what you're going to see.

He's standing just on the inside of the chain-link fence, leaning against the wire, hands still clinging onto the fence behind his back, having clearly just climbed over the thing in a matter of seconds.

He tilts his head again, his green eyes sparkling; a gesture you find unmeasurably cute.

You wait for him to say something. To explain what he was doing on the roof of your school, but an awkward moment of passes between you where neither one of you speaks.

"What are you doing here?" you ask uncertainly, after deciding he wasn't going to start the conversation.

He grins. "I'm busting you out of here," He states, as though there's no doubt in the matter.

You choke. "What? I'm not in prison; I'm here on my own free will you dolt!" But was that really the truth?

He raises an eyebrow at you.

"What I _mean_ is I _want_ to be here."

He glances up the school and then back at you, eyebrow still raised, an expression on his face that clearly reads _you can't possibly be serious._

You fumble again. _Do_ you want to be here? For once in your life, you're not sure. There's something about this boy that made you constantly challenge everything you'd ever believed. It confused you.

"I mean, I _need_ to be here," You attempt. "I've got to study. And besides, I've got a clean record and I don't plan on soiling it."

"Did you know that an overly clean environment can actually have a negative impact on your health?"

Out of all the comebacks you were expecting, that was _definitely_ not one of them. Once again, Percy had left you gaping and dazed like a fish out of water. Clearly, he was smarter than he was letting on.

"Well, did _you_ know that the word _antiseptic_ is derived from Greek and means _against rotting_? And that Ignaz Semmelweis was the first to avidly encourage handwashing in hospitals after a large bout of Puerperal Fever?"

 _Ha! Beat that!_

"Umm…no? How the heck would I know that? How the heck would _anyone_ know that?"

"I suggest you read up on it," you say, savoring the fact that you're in control of the situation at last. "You never know when you might need knowledge in medical history."

"Actually, I'm pretty positive I never will. But I'll look up on it if you ditch."

You sigh heavily. "Look, I really can't... I should – oh, cut it out with the sad face already!" He's giving you the kicked puppy look, and it's not helping your morale. "Besides, you shouldn't be following me around like that. Most people would call that stalking."

"But I'm not most people, and I call it _observing and_ _liberating_."

You let out a very Ms. Anderson-like huff, and fold your arms across your chest, in a stance that you hope conveys something like _you are a pain in the butt,_ but more likely resembles an egotistical glower, so you cut it out almost immediately and spin on your heal, marching off towards the school. If he can't comprehend your intentions, then this ought to make them clearer.

When you turn back to face him, he shoots you with the most heartbreaking expression yet; a mixture of pity; as though he's watching your funeral unfold, mingled with _don't make me ditch by myself,_ and a bit of _I thought we were friends._

He was certainly good with the guilt tripping.

-()()()()-

Five minutes later, after the crumbling of your will (less of a crumbling and more of an annihilation), you're walking down the street away from school, with Percy skipping gleefully beside you like a little kid on his birthday.

The wind spirals viciously around you, slapping at your face and any other patches of exposed skin, reminding you of the warmth that should have been here; of the promise of flowers and ice cream and tee-shirts that had been broken by winter's obstinacy.

"You know, I think you and winter have a lot in common. His stubbornness can only be rivaled by your own."

Percy chuckles. "Have you had a look at yourself recently? You're more stubborn than the both of _us_ combined. But," he continues, cutting your protest off in advance, "I do like winter. Summer and spring; they're alright, but winter is more…laid back and peaceful. It doesn't expect anything from you the way the other seasons do. Snow isn't all dampness and shoveling; it's delicate, like flowers, but more radiant. Summer's all fun times and sports, but winter's all hugs and cosiness. If you think about it, winter's the warmest season of all."

You think about that, and perhaps it's your imagination, but the world around you suddenly seems a little less gloomy. The trees in the park are no longer being smothered and weighed down by the piles of snow on their branches; now they look like they're drooped over sleeping; tranquil and at ease.

That is until the rain came. It started rather suddenly, as though your thoughts had pulled it right out of the sky. Starting out as a few drops, like it was testing the air, and, being satisfied, it began pouring down in buckets like someone in the heavens had instantaneously turned on a tap. The tiny drops ate away at the fragile snow like acid, melting tiny shrapnel-like holes that spread further and further.

The both of you make a run for it to the closest available cover – an antique shop that sat sadly on the corner and had probably filled with more customers in that downpour than it ever had in the entirety of its existence.

"Damn rain." Percy puffed, once you were safely situated between an 1850's bicycle and a collection of dusty vases.

"So now what?" you ask. "Your act of liberation has been infiltrated by bad weather."

He considers it. "I have a friend that lives not far from here. We can go to their place until the rain stops. Besides, this prison break never had a plan anyway, so it's not as if we're really deviating."

-()()()()-

As it turned out, Percy's version of 'not far' was very different to yours, and it took at least thirty minutes of darting from one overhang to the next like some sort of ninja-spy before you arrived.

Your efforts to avoid the downpour had little effect on the end result, however, and when you at last arrive in front of an old car mechanic, you're both sopping wet from head to toe and shivering uncontrollably.

Percy leads you across the tarmac parking lot and inside the front office, ringing out his clothing as best he can before stepping over the threshold. You follow suit, slightly confused as to why you're at a mechanic, and how exactly Percy had made acquaintance with these "friends." The room looked well cared for; the desk was tidy and free of dust, and the interior, albeit outdated, was clean overall. The only thing that drew away from the worth was the building itself. It was made cheaply of plywood and tin, and the gaps around the door and poorly fitted window allowed the cool outside air to seep through – not unlike Ms. Anderson's classroom. But there was a certain feeling of warmth about the atmosphere of the room.

You can see tell-tale signs of a homey presence scattered throughout. From the smell of chocolate to a rather familiar looking skateboard resting against a rack of magazines. You can say without a doubt that it's the same sea green skateboard you carried through the alleyways two weeks ago.

You're about to comment on it, but before you can Percy walks behind the desk to a door leading out back and tugs at it. Much to your surprise it swings right open without a key, and when Percy gestures for you to follow, you find yourself in a small but cozy living room; two tan couches arranged in an L shape around a wooden coffee table, a large vase full of colorful roses brightening up the scene.

The fact that you've entered somebody's house without permission (particularly someone who probably doesn't even know of your existence) makes you uncomfortable, and you stick close behind Percy's back as you venture deeper.

"Umm…they won't mind, right?" you whisper.

He looks at you queerly. "Nah," he says after some pause. "I practically live here."

As if to further prove his point, he walks over to a doorway leading to the rest of the house and peeks his head around it. "Esperanza? Leo?" He shouts, loud enough to make you cringe at the sudden escalate in volume. "You guys here?"

A middle-aged woman with dark hair and grease-stained overalls emerges from the hallway and places her hands on her hips, a half amused half disapproving look on her face. "Shouldn't you be in school, mister?"

"We were studying biology, and I was at serious risk of dying from entertainment withdrawal, and thought it would be tragic if I deceased while studying the science of life."

The woman, who you assume is Esperanza, chuckles and reaches up to ruffle Percy's hair. "Well, since you're here, you can help Leo fix up the old Jeep out back. And this time try not to get windshield fluid in the fuel tank."

"Hey!" Percy raises his arms in a placating gesture. "Leo was the one who swapped the bottles. And I can't help out back today; I've got a fellow escapee to watch out for."

Esperanza looks around the room, a look of surprise altering her elf-like features when her eyes meet yours.

"Percy!" she exclaims, whacking him on the arm and then pushing past him to bustle over towards you, now full on grinning.

She holds out a hand, and you readily shake it, feeling her enthusiastic demeanor rubbing off onto you. She seems to be one of those people who can brighten up a room the moment they walk in. She's short, and couldn't have been over five-foot-two, with wildly curly hair tucked messily under a baker-boy cap.

"Sorry about that oaf over there," she laughs. "I'm Esperanza."

"No problem," you grin. "I'm Annabeth. The other 'escapee'."

"So did you volunteer for this or did Percy drag you along?" She shoots a teasing look towards Percy.

"Dragged. Percy can be very…" You pause. Very what? Percy's a lot of things; there was no set label on what he was because he never seemed to be the same thing twice. Both times you've seen him he's surprised you with his ways. There was just no way to describe it.

Luckily Esperanza comes to your rescue "He gave you the puppy eyes, didn't he? He'll be the death of all of us, that boy."

"Geez you guys, I'm right here you know," Percy announces from behind you. "Have a little compassion!"

"Well, I certainly didn't keep you around for your mechanic skills." Esperanza snickers. He deflates a little and pouts; crossing his arms and staring down at the floor near his feet; causing another round of laughter at his expense.

"That hurts, Esper. That truly hurts."

"Aww, there, there." You pat him on the back with false sympathy.

He smirks at Esperanza. "You see, Esper? Annabeth treats me better than you, and I practically just met her."

"Why don't you go find Leo then. I'm sure he'll be _oozing_ with sympathy."

He nods sullenly and mopes out the door, being sure to sigh dramatically as he exited for extra effect.

You both stare at his retreating figure, silence lingering as you gaze at the now empty door from which he disappeared. The silence wasn't at all uncomfortable, it was calming, in a sense. "So," Esperanza says at last. "How did you meet Percy?"

And so you tell her.

-()()()()-

Percy didn't return for some time. No doubt his short attention span had been distracted by something. You don't mind though. You sit on the couch with Esperanza, sipping at a piping hot cup of homemade Spanish hot chocolate (that is quite possibly the most delicious thing you've ever consumed) and just talking.

At some point, you voice the question that has been nagging at your mind subconsciously since you arrived.

"Does Percy live here?" you cringe at how forward the question sounds, and even more so when you see the expression on Esper's face.

"Sorry," you murmur quickly. "I didn't mean to pry."

You expect her to get up and leave, or change the subject, so it's to your great surprise that she stares you straight in the eye and says, "Yes. He does. You should probably know."

And she doesn't leave it at that. She continues.

"Percy's parents and Leo's father were business partners. They worked at a water plant outside the city. One night, they had to attend an urgent meeting, and they left Percy under my care.

"There wasn't supposed to be a storm. The rain had only just started when they dropped Percy off here. I guess none of us thought it would get to the ferocity it did. They made it halfway there when the storm fully hit. Rain, hail, gale force winds, the whole shebang. They found the car in the morning. None of the three made it." She pauses and intakes a shaky breath, forcing herself to hold it together.

"Percy was twelve. I wouldn't let him go to the authorities. They'd ruin him. And besides, Sally left him in _my_ care that night. And I promised I'd look after him. Even if that night turned out way longer than it was supposed to be."

The words hang in the air, resonating through your mind as you stare blankly at the bouquet of roses, standing sunnily on the coffee table as though to taunt you with their presence; a reminder of happy things that couldn't be.

"You know," you say, perhaps trying to draw all thoughts away from the gloomy subjects, or perhaps it just popped out. "I've never really understood roses."

Esperanza glances at you, a half smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. "Oh?"

"Yeah," you say, your voice resolute. "Roses are supposed to be a symbol of love, right? But if you get an assortment of flowers the roses are always the first to die. It's like some sort of sick joke. The petals drop off almost instantly. They're delicate, and they make a mess. Now, if it were up to me, I'd have made lavender a symbol of love instead. Lavender lasts forever. You can dry it, make it into oil or candles, use it as a herb, and it even has medicinal values. The possibilities are endless, and if I were ever at the receiving end of a flower, I'd much rather it be one that says 'my love will last forever and is extremely versatile' as opposed to one that says 'Hey, I like you, but my love will die soon and make a mess on the floor that you'll have to clean up'."

The surprised expression and speechlessness you receive by Esperanza at the end of your little rant is enough to make you a little uncomfortable, and for a moment you wonder if you've offended her in some way. Your worries are diminished seconds later, and her face soon melts into a grin, followed by booming laughter that resonates around the room, echoing off the walls and surrounding you with the joyous sound.

"Well aren't you something." She chuckles.

-()()()()-

Percy returned shortly after, bouncing cheerily into the room with both hands stuffed unceremoniously into his jean pockets. He was trailed by a rather short, skinny boy with Esperanza's elf-like face and crazy hair. A toolbelt that looks much too large for him is wrapped around his waist, and some sort of black substance is smeared on his face and in his hair, causing the untamed locks to stick up even more wildly. He looks like he's stuck his finger in a socket and been electrocuted. You assume this must be Leo.

"Guess what we did…oh!" Leo stops short when he sees you, hands paused in the air where he had been rubbing them together. "Well hello there. Do you like mechanics?" He asks, flicking his eyebrows up and down.

Percy facepalms dramatically. "Dude, are you kidding me? You walk into your living room and see a pretty girl and the first thing you ask her is 'Do you like mechanics?'" That's seriously lame."

He turns to you. "Please forgive Leo's attempts at flirting. He's hopeless at it."

You smile, "Actually, I _do_ know some mechanics, though I'm far from a genius in the subject."

Percy rolls his eyes and flops down on the sofa opposite you. "Of course you do."

And so the three of you launch into conversation bickering lightly, laughing, and for once, talking about silly things, nonsensical things that weren't important, and yet were the most important things of all. You have no idea how long you stayed there with your new friends, being more of a normal teenager than you ever could remember being; the time just seems to fly past. It's funny, how a few short hours could feel more important than an entire lifetime, but that's exactly how you felt at that moment, surrounded by people that you'd just met.

It was the start of a magical friendship, and it was as though all three of you knew then of the things that would unfold over the next few months. Of the bond that would hold you all together.

Or tear you all apart.

* * *

 **A/N: I'm really, really sorry about how long this has taken! I lost faith in my writing ability and in this story, and because of that, I've had the worst writer's block. My inspiration had finally decided to return to me, so I'm back from Hiatus (hopefully for good this time).**

 **I'm pretty sure this story will have two or three more parts, which will hopefully be out in the coming weeks.**

 **Please review! It helps me greatly! :)**


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